


The Veritable Boxer Rebellion

by yonderdarling



Series: Doctor/Missy Oneshots [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk, F/M, M/M, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sharing Clothes, Table Sex, sloths, well it's a console but close enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling
Summary: Missy wears the Doctor's clothes. That's new. That's very new.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's porn, and it's terrible, and I'm posting it so I stop trying to make it not-terrible.

"You're wearing my clothes."

"Yes."

"Why are you wearing my clothes?"

Missy shrugs, and things jiggle, and her hair bounces, and it's distracting.

"Because my clothes are dirty," she says. "Shall we recap?"

The Doctor sinks back down into his armchair. "You - yes. We were on Kammler-Dian, and there was that dust storm, and you got the brunt of it."

Missy pads around the console. She's in bare feet. That's new.

"Yes," she says.

"So I let you come back here to shower and wash your clothes, and I said you could," says the Doctor. "You said you would, I mean, and then you did, and I left out a dressing-gown for you - "

"That's one of my old ones, it doesn't fit properly," says Missy. "Way too broad in the shoulders."

She leans on the bottom of the banister, twists the hem of the t-shirt she's in (it's his t-shirt), looks up at him - she's probably trying for winsome, but it's coming across as smug.

"It might be smug," says Missy. "But it's working for you."

"It is working for me," says the Doctor, and swallows dryly. "It's distracting."

"That's new."

"It is." The Doctor clears his throat. "So what, you just - instead of going to the wardrobe, you went to my room and got, my, my t-shirt, I like that t-shirt, I got that t-shirt from Keith Moon - "

"It smells like you, it's nice," says Missy, and she takes one step up the stairs.

"Well, it hasn't been washed since I took Bill out on Saturnalia," the Doctor says.

Which is a mistake. Missy removes her foot from the step.

"And my underwear," says the Doctor.

"Which I got from the drawer, so I'm assuming it's clean."

"Yes."

"Mm-hm."

Missy puts her foot up on the step again. Her toenails are painted bright red, which match the bright red question marks all over the boxer shorts she's wearing. Which are his boxer shorts, but on her. Boxer. Area.

"It's a veritable boxer rebellion," says Missy, with a meaningful look, and two more steps up the stairs. She's got five left now. "On both of our accounts."

The Doctor crosses his legs awkwardly. This shouldn't be working on him.

"So you went to my room. Took my clothes instead of going to the wardrobe - "

"Your room was closer, and it's not like I'll be wearing them for long."

The Doctor meets her gaze as she reaches the top of the stairs, stands in front of him, all bare feet and long hair and - in his clothes.His t-shirt. His boxers.

"Bit presumptuous," he says.

"It was, a bit of a bet," says Missy, hands on her hips. "I think the odds are in my favour."

The Doctor looks her up and down again, admiring her messy, just-washed curls, the curves of her breasts and hips, the shape of her dark nipples under his shirt. That's his shirt.

"This is new, this is all very new," says the Doctor, studying her. "You've worn my clothes before. I've seen you in my clothes before. This is new."

Missy leans down and brings their lips together. She kisses along his jaw, sliding carefully into his lap, pressing her thigh against the growing bulge in his trousers.

"You usually have the sex drive of a half-dead sloth with cystitis," says Missy. "So, it's new."

"It's new. And I think, if we're giving critiques - ah," says the Doctor, as Missy licks his earlobe. "Your sexy talk could do with some work."

"Sloths," says Missy, kissing down his neck and making his skin prickle. "Half-dead. Cystitis."

The Doctor finds his hands on her thigh and waist, his thumbs rubbing circles into her soft skin. Missy undoes the first few buttons of his shirt, kisses the uncovered skin.

"Megalonychidae or Bradypodidae?" he asks.

"Shut up," says Missy, and kisses him on the mouth.

They make out for a few minutes, Missy soft in his lap, smelling like lavender soap and steel and also him, because she's wearing his t-shirt. The Doctor cups her face and brushes his fingers along her cheekbones. The Doctor rests his thumb on her bottom lip, coloured with that dark red lipstick (so she had time to put that back on) and noses along her jaw.

"You smell amazing," he says.

"Did you know," says Missy, as he rearranges her, hands on her hips and thighs and knees and waist, fixing so she's straddling him. "Some sloths have tongues that can protrude up to 12 inches from their mouths?"

The Doctor pauses, his hands back on her hips, fingers twisted into her shirt.

"Twelve inches?"

"Twelve inches."

"Twelve inches," says the Doctor. " _Twelve_ \- "

"Listen, if you regenerate before me this time," says Missy, and the Doctor laughs as she kisses him again. She bites at his lower lip, moves down to his jaw. "No, seriously, I would go quite far for you to have a twelve inch tongue."

"Sounds nightmarish," the Doctor says. "Bit disgusting. Ice-creams, though - "

"You've had your face on my genitals, Doctor," says Missy, and the Doctor starts chuckling. "Make it worth my while."

The Doctor trails his hands up her chest, squeezes her breasts. "I try to." He leans up and kisses her, starts laughing again. Keeps kissing her.

"Try harder." Missy pauses, hands on his shoulders. "You haven't - gone near any strange pollinating plants lately, have you?"

The Doctor shakes his head, toys with the bottom of her shirt. He slips his hand up under the fabric, rubs her hip softly. He trails his lips down her neck. The Doctor uses the hand on her hip to pull the shirt down and kisses along her collarbone. There's one freckle there that he's particularly fond of.

"Doctor. Doctor, Doctor, Doctor, my Doctor."

"Hm." The Doctor noses into the hollow of her throat, keeps kissing her neck. "Mistress."

"Haven't been bitten by anything off of Phantagsm Thirty?" Missy uses one index finger under his chin to make him look at her. "Hey?"

"Not that I can recall, but - " says the Doctor, and Missy presses her finger against his lips as they both think, and she whispers, "hush."

"It could be - " the Doctor nips her fingertip, holds it between his teeth. Lets go. "Missy. Hey."

"Sorry." Missy puts her hand between his hearts, settles in his lap. She shifts her weight against him, grins when the Doctor makes a noise in his throat.

"You, Missy, in my clothes," he says, still rubbing her side. "My clothes - "

"I think it's a possessive thing," says Missy. "You know, how culturally Time Lords don't wear the robes of other houses - Doctor. Doctor. Are you sitting comfortably?"

"No. Clearly not. _Clearly_. We should remove to somewhere more - horizontal - "

Missy snorts and kisses him again, and the Doctor responds, one of his hands covering her left heart. Then, his fingers slip and he squeezes her breast. Teases her nipple, humming something under his breath. The Doctor leans in and puts his mouth over her breast, sucks on it lightly. He grins when Missy gasps, feeling his tongue lave over her nipple, hot even through the fabric. His shirt. His t-shirt.

The Doctor looks up and meets her eyes properly. She quirks an eyebrow as she sees his dilated pupils, gasps when the Doctor grabs her arse with his other hand.

"But yes," says the Doctor. "That makes sense. You in my clothes, in my TARDIS. Sauntering in - "

"It's never worked before. I've worn your clothes before."

The Doctor takes a deep breath, makes himself focus. Then he frowns.

"I'm literally trapped under you and you're questioning this?" he asks.

"Scientific process, my dear, dear Doctor," says Missy, and shifts her weight again. She grins, all red lipstick and fangs and hair falling around her neck and face. "In case I need to repeat this result. Hypothesis, experiment. Repeatable results."

The Doctor brushes her hair back, twists the strands in his fingers.

"Please, do not," says the Doctor. "Maybe it's just - you're going to say the p-word, aren't you - "

"I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you possessive in a long time," says Missy, and pops her lips. "In fact, you were happy to disparage me in front of Davros's pet Voldemort. I'm your arch-nemesis, enemy, best friend, the shag of your dreams - "

"I'm not…reading into it that much,you're just wearing my boxers," says the Doctor. He toys with the waistband of her shorts, rubs his thumbs on the skin at the crook of her thighs and hips. "Interesting."

"And?"

"It turns me on impressively," says the Doctor. "Now, let's get up."

"You're already up."

The Doctor rests his forehead against her collarbone, takes a deep breath. "You make that joke all the time, and it's not funny just because you lost your penis - "

"That's the wrong p-word."

"I'm not going to say possessive just because you - ah."

Missy chuckles, shifting against him. "There we go. Now, let's go. I'm feeling my room, because of all those lovely little toys I have in there."

Missy wiggles out of his lap. Her motions make it difficult for the Doctor to move for a moment. The Mistress saunters down the stairs, in his boxers and his t-shirt, her hair ruffled and mussed.

"The hair, is good too," says the Doctor, standing at the top of the stairs. "You know, I don't - because you usually have it up."

"The collar, undone, is good," says Missy, still walking. "Come on, let's get these off so we can get to the good stuff."

"The good stuff," says the Doctor dumbly.

Missy pauses at the console, traces her fingers along the buttons. The TARDIS makes a low noise.

"Oh, shush," she says. "It's not your buttons he's after right now."

The Doctor makes his way down the staircase, grabs Missy's waist.

"Certainly not," he says.

Missy purrs as he spins her, presses her against him, her arse against his half-hard cock. Missy twists awkwardly, grabs the Doctor's face and bites at his lips. She rubs back against his cock, runs one hand down his chest. The Doctor kisses down her neck, along her shoulder. He tugs at the t-shirt - his t-shirt, she's in his clothes -to bare her shoulder, nips along her collarbone. Missy sighs happily.

"Is this the good stuff?" the Doctor asks, tightening his hands around her waist, and he chuckles as Missy nods.

The Doctor pulls her hips flush with his again, pressing his hard cock against the cleft of her arse.

"I'm in your clothes," says Missy, and the Doctor squeezes her breast. "Get your jacket off, I feel half-naked compared to you."

The Doctor keeps kissing her neck, slips one hand around to the front of her boxers, rubs her through the patterned fabric. Missy shifts up onto her toes, giving him a better angle.

"You're so wet," he whispers in her ear, his voice low, and Missy makes a small noise. "I can feel it. You're soaking the material."

Missy shifts against him. The Doctor sucks in a breath.

"You want me so much," says Missy, and the Doctor sucks her earlobe. "Say yes."

"Fuck, yes," says the Doctor.

"Why today, Doctor?"

"You're wearing my clothes. In my TARDIS. My clothes - "

Missy turns, and the Doctor kisses her, forceful, pushing her up against the console. It presses into her thighs, edging on painful. Missy kisses the Doctor harder, delving her hands into his hair. The Doctor grabs her waist again and lifts her onto the console. Pushes her thighs apart roughly and stands between them. He shifts, pants uncomfortably tight, but Missy's far too interesting right now for him to deal with his own issues.

Missy takes her hands from his hair and begins working his shirt open, again pressing her mouth to the skin she uncovers. "Excellent. Nice work. No, actually, this is taking ages."

Missy tears his shirt open. Buttons ping and clatter around the room, and she grins, presses her hand against his sternum.

"Better," she says, and makes to pull her own top off.

The Doctor catches her wrists and stops her. Missy peers up at him, quirks her eyebrows, and he shrugs.

"Whatever floats your weird, slothy boat," she says, and the Doctor laughs. He moves his hands up and down her sides, feeling the familiar fabric against her skin. The Doctor draws his hands up her thighs and up the legs of her boxers. Missy presses her palm to the bulge in his trousers, skims her nails over his fly.

"Gorgeous," says Missy. She retrieves her hand, takes a moment to rub herself through the boxers, humming with pleasure. The Doctor groans. She sighs. "Yes, I'm definitely going to use this. It's payback."

"Payback? When have I ever teased you like this?"

"Oh, constantly," says Missy, still meeting his eyes, her pupils dilating. She slips her hand under the waistband of the boxers, clicks her teeth together. "Playing hard to get. Wearing all those tight suits - "

The Doctor grabs her breasts, squeezes them, tight enough to border on pain. Missy squirms with pleasure as he tweaks her nipples. "That was - two bodies ago."

"More recent for me - ah," says Missy, dropping her head back and sucking in a breath. "God, I'm good at this. I guess I practise on myself, so often - "

"Fuck," says the Doctor, and shudders.

"Don't get all presumptuous, who says I was thinking of you," says Missy.

"It's always me," the Doctor says.

Missy nods, smirks, all red lipstick and messy hair and the Doctor licks into her mouth, grabs her face in both of his hands. Missy pulls back, grins.

"It's always you. You. Why do you still have your pants on?"

The Doctor grabs her wrist, and Missy pauses, smirks at him. He pulls her hand out of her underwear, guides it to his mouth and sucks on two of her fingers, lapping up her taste.

"You like it?" Missy purrs, and he nods. "I'm all yours, all wrapped up in your clothes, and you're all mine, Doctor." She retrieves her hand, lets her fingers brush the front of his tented trousers again. "Get those off."

There's a jingle as the Doctor undoes his belt. Missy reaches into his trousers, shoves his underwear down, strokes his cock. Squeezes it, lets her nails scrape against the delicate, hot skin. The Doctor hisses, drops his forehead onto her shoulder.

"My Doctor, how the turntables have turned," says Missy, and the Doctor splutters. She keeps stroking him, humming. "In your TARDIS, in your clothes, yet you're still at my mercy - "

The Doctor tips his head, breathes in the smell of her hair. She's intoxicating, and he licks along her neck, enjoys her taste. Missy chuckles, low and deep, and the Doctor makes his own low noise.

Suddenly the Doctor shoves his pants down and pushes Missy onto her back. Surprised, Missy catches herself on her elbows and lets herself watch the Doctor pull her boxers off, lifting her hips. He drops the boxers on the floor, takes a moment and draws his hands up her inner thighs, rubs his thumb against her slit, teases at her clit. Missy twitches. The Doctor pushes Missy's thighs apart and with the same movement, pulls her to the edge of the console. He takes his cock and pushes into her wet, hot cunt with a grunt. Pumps his hips roughly, feeling Missy open around him.

"Good," Missy murmurs, lying back on the console. "Good, good good."

"You want me just as badly," he says, his voice deep and throaty, and Missy purrs as he begins to thrust harder. "Walking in here like a cat in heat. You know I can always tell when you want to shag, I just play dumb."

"You play dumb an awful lot then," says Missy, and hooks her ankles together behind his back. "Play completely stupid." She shifts her hips and they both groan. "Harder."

"I'll take my own time."

There's a few wonderful moments when the only noises are the sounds of their breathing, their bodies slapping together, the jingle of the Doctor's belt as he fucks her. There's a beep when Missy hits her head on the wrong button.

"Shit," she says, and the Doctor snickers, draws out of her slowly, pushes in again. "Okay. More than okay."

Missy runs her hands down her body, squeezes her nipples. She moans, moves one of her hands down to rub at her swollen clit. She closes her eyes, hums. The Doctor moans, slows down his thrusts until they could almost be called tender. He shifts, leans over and kisses her roughly, Missy breaks the kiss, grabs his hand and forces it onto her breast. He squeezes, pinches her nipple between his fingers. Kisses down her neck. Missy moans, squeezes his waist with her thighs. The Doctor kisses back across to her mouth, and Missy bites his bottom lip. The Doctor begins to fuck her again instinctively, his rhythm hard and drawing gasps from Missy's throat.

"Fuck," the Doctor breathes against her mouth. "Fuck - "

"I like it when you swear, I really, really like it," Missy says, and then makes a high-pitched noise. "You like this? Me, all spread out on your console, in your TARDIS, in your clothes - "

The Doctor makes a low noise and his thrusts become faster and harder, their flesh slapping together loudly. He leans over her, buries his face in her neck, twisting his fingers in her hair. Missy pushes up against him. She slips one hand between them, strokes her clit. Tips her head to one side, sucks the Doctor's earlobe as he pants into her neck. She nips at his ear.

"You're not coming before me," she says.

"Come fast, then," the Doctor pants, and groans. "Fuck - "

"How much do you want me right now? All spread out - ah - on your console, in your clothes - "

"You've done this bit - " the Doctor chokes out. "Cystitis."

Missy snorts, and the Doctor's rhythm falters, picks up again. He groans again, low and deep in his chest, and Missy feels it in her chest and her cunt.

"I'm all yours, you think, but you're all mine," says Missy. The Doctor thrusts into her forcefully, and she twitches, loses her breath for a moment, feels the burn of her respiratory bypass engaging. "All mine, mine, mine, my Doctor - "

"Missy - " the Doctor manages to choke out. "Fucking _hell_ \- Missy - "

"Doctor - "

Missy sucks in a breath, body shaking, gasping. The Doctor pounds into her, swearing under his breath, pulling at her hair. Her thighs tremble. Missy bucks, clenches around him and comes with a shout, her eyes rolling back into her head.

A few seconds later, the Doctor calls her name and comes inside her, catches himself on his elbows before he falls onto her torso. He presses his thumb against Missy's clit, laughs when she groans and twitches, swats at him. The Doctor swears under his breath again, tucks his face back into the crook of Missy's neck and shoulder as they both get their breath back.

"Mine," says Missy, kissing the side of his face lightly, strangely tender. "All mine." She strokes his hair.

The Doctor slumps against her finally, still inside her, pressing her into the console. Sighs, breath hot against her neck. "Yours," he says, slurred, and Missy chuckles. "In my boxers," he adds. "Mine."

"Not anymore." Missy lifts her hips slightly, and the Doctor winces. "Your t-shirt though."

"Mm."

Missy keeps stroking his hair. The Doctor lifts his head, looks down at her, messy lipstick and tangled black curls. She smiles up at him.

"Possessive," he says.

Missy purrs and lifts her head, kisses him softly. "Possessive is good. Possessive is very good."

The Doctor tries to straighten up, and when that doesn't work for him, he runs one hot hand down her thigh. He squeezes her arse, then holds her hip. 

"This can't be good for the console," he says, slurred. "Like - almost certainly."

"It's seen worse," says Missy.

The Doctor steps away from her, runs his hands through his mussed hair, rubs his face. He awkwardly tugs his pants up as Missy sits up, winces, slides off the console and lands, quiet in her bare feet, on the floor.

"I need a priest and a nap," says the Doctor. "Not in that order."

Missy wraps an arm around his waist, squeezes him tightly. "You know - " she says, pressing her hot face against his bicep. "You know - "

"No, I don't - "

"I still have that vicar outfit from way back when," she says. "The seventies?"

"Or was it the eighties?" the Doctor asks.

Missy shrugs, tugs the t-shirt down, playing at modesty. "I'll keep that in mind. The outfit, not the decades."

"It's not about the clothes, Missy," says the Doctor. He takes her hand, starts leading her to his bedroom. "It's about you, you annoying - "

"I believe the term was cat in heat," Missy says smugly, hip-checking him.

"And I'm a half-dead sloth."

"After that display, my dear Doctor, I'm willing to bump you up to three quarters alive. And no bladder infection."

"Dirty talk, Mistress. Still needs work."

Missy tugs the Doctor to one side of the corridor, just outside of his bedroom. She goes up on tiptoe, kisses him gently on the lips. "Now. There's something else we need to try."

The Doctor rests his hands on her hips. "What's that?"

"If that's how you react to me wearing your t-shirt," Missy says, running one hand down his bare chest. "I need to see you in my corset."

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are always appreciated!


End file.
